What Propriety Dictates
by Ryu Niiyama
Summary: Within the machinations of the Grand Game there is a place for many emotions: hubris, ambition, fury. Yet love is deemed too weak for the dance of deception and manipulation. As the voice of the Inquisition, Josephine Montilyet can not afford to be seen as weak. Yet will she find love's strength within the horn crowned Herald?


What Propriety Dictates

By Ryu Niiyama

Rated T

Pre relationship Female mage Adaar/ Josephine

* * *

The weight of the world rests upon shoulders that should not have to bear it alone. The world has been endlessly cruel to her; setting her adrift in a world that views her kind as monsters or tyrants that would spit on her kindness and beauty. Still she stands tall, proudly even as she faces the greatest evil the world has ever known. For what could be worse than dragon gods slumbering beneath the earth? Surely the massive ominous maw within the heavens answered that question easily. Human greed and vanity; reaching out with cold, grasping fingers to destroy everything it touches. Sometimes she wondered how the Herald could reject the Qun…after all they seemed to at least demand an equal place with ambition having no place to take root like an insidious weed. Surely a follower of the Qun would not have doomed the world to ruin and destruction as the foolish Archons had done. Was it not ambition that turned the Maker's gaze from the world and demanded that Andraste burn in penance for mankind's sins? Was it not ambition that stripped the elvhes of their home and their culture? Yet ambition could be the longings of a warrior to be a poet or a baker to deviate from the recipe.

Or a mage wishing to live her life in peace with her family.

Upon hearing about the race of the Herald, The Ambassador of the Inquisition looked up everything she could about the Qunari- The Kossith- and she had cried bitter tears upon learning how they treated their mages or those that rejected the Qun. Surely many mages in Orlais or Fereldan would argue that their gilded cages were no better; yet the thought of that silver tongue cut out and those full, distractingly kissable lips sown shut horrified her. She should have realized then that even with the barest knowledge of the Herald's motivations or personality that she was already under her spell. Meeting her in person and seeing that gentle, polite wisdom housed within an intimidatingly irresistible body ensured that she was lost.

With a diplomat's observant eye, the eldest Montilyet watched from her office window as the Vashoth mage practiced with the Inquisition's allies from Redcliff. How she wished that for once her breeding could be cast aside and she could tell the light of her soul how she truly felt. How she longed to give free reign to her true desires and praise her beloved for her heroism and embrace her with this painful passion that lashed at her heart. There are those that would call her monster, or demon. If those tales are true, then for the first time in her life she could truly understand what temptations those touched by magic faced every day. Maker knows she has submitted to the Herald countless times within the grasp of the Fade.

Ashraa Adaar's beauty was uncommon; alien yet consuming, yet still striking all the same. Pale eyes, slate grey but ringed with violet and twinkling with great intelligence and kindness. Thick, ebony, curling horns gleamed with polish and care, adorning her long, silver hair like a Chassind crown. Full lips like a bow poised to fire made her ache with the need to drink from their depths. Her mostly unblemished skin was pale, but more like earthen clay that had been diluted than ashes from the hearth. Her statuesque, svelte from could have easily belonged to a warrior of shadow and steel, and yet it was magic and wisdom that carried her might. Adaar's robust lineage blessed her with a form full of ripe and full curves; plump breasts and a muscled and shapely backside that complimented instead of clashed with her otherwise dangerously powerful form. Strength rippled through her, practical wiry steel sheathed in skin softer than velvet. Yet there was a delicacy, a refinement that Josephine knew didn't just stem from her nature as a Mage. Still, the Vashoth was hesitant and somewhat clumsy outside of battle and absolutely unaware of the enchantment she wove effortlessly amongst others. Josephine found the dichotomy charming even as the Vashoth's beauty and wit set her ablaze.

Adaar was kind, gentle, endlessly patient and insightful. Her mind was quick and she had a thirst for knowledge that made Josephine's soul sing in kindred understanding. She didn't play The Game, but had learned enough of human and elvhen nature to guess their hearts and motivations. Reluctant leader though she was, Lady Adaar quickly grasped situations and adapted to them, inspiring or chastising her followers when needed. She didn't take her frustration at the ignorance of humans and elvhes out on others, but there were times that a practice dummy gave its life in the stead of some idiot that thought her a beast. She never let her frustration be known but refused to play the ashamed chattel to be verbally abused by ignorance. There was a ferocity that lay in wait behind her slate grey eyes, a power that made her adversaries tremble in fear. Josephine found that ferocity invigorating and compelling.

Did she know what lay within her advisor's heart? How a Montilyet was reduced to frozen, ineffectual frustration when the Herald spoke or held her gaze? All of her poise and training evaporated like the winds when she heard that deep, soft chuckle of amusement or when a hesitant smile was offered in thanks to a diplomatic suggestion. Josephine found herself competing with the other advisors; determined to give the soundest advice in order to gain the gentle mage's favor and regard. She had to take to avoiding Leliana's inquisitive, burning gaze even as she pressed even harder for a victory in the War Room. Strange how a "Well done, Lady Montilyet" or more recently a soft "Thank you, Josephine" could be the drive that kept the diplomat's bedroom candles burning long into the small hours of the night.

When she did attempt to find peace in the within the Fade's embrace, it was visions of soft regard warmed to passionate need that plagued her. Her phantom lover abandoned her at dawn's light, leaving her out of sorts as arousal and exhaustion frayed her nerves at the ends.

Josephine was no virginal maiden, and after years of playing the Game she had heard of and at times participated in every sordid act one could commit upon another. It didn't help that Leliana's devastation at the loss of her beloved Warden Commander Surana had let her to often use physical affection to lance the ever present wound the Warden Commander had left behind.

Despite the absolute anguish that consumed Leliana, Josephine couldn't help but envy her. She had found the sort of love that the bards sang of; a love so wondrous and gripping that her heart was forever ruined for another. Leliana claimed her occasional ardor was due to the fact that she was a woman of strong passions and yet she'd spent two years celibate in the Lothering chantry. Josephine indulged her friend's lies, because to reveal the truth to her would destroy the Left hand of the Divine utterly. The Nightingale used the touch of others to punish herself. To sully a soul incapable of saving the woman that she loved. Leliana feared facing not the Maker, but instead an accusing Surana; despite knowing full well the fallen Warden would only greet her with joy. The Nightingale drowned in regret even as she strove to protect the world her beloved had given her very soul for. Josephine wondered if she could find the same in Lady Adaar; a love so powerful that to be without it would be worse than the agony of Andraste's Flame. A part of her came alive with the hope, even as the rest of the practical ambassador sought to squelch such dreams.

For the first time in her life, Josephine wanted the romances of the grand tales. She had always thought romance was a fanciful dream of those with no hope or means to shape their own future or nobles with too much time on their hands. She bore the weight of her family's honor and prosperity on her shoulders alone and now her decisions could very well have sway upon the end times. Yet her heart still trebled when she saw the tall, soft spoken Vashoth arranged uncomfortably in a chair in the library, because she couldn't bear to put down a book. Or her how her heart filled when she noticed a scroll of poetry... beautiful, enrapturing poetry that that the Herald penned herself, when she delivered a book on Orlesian history to the studious herald. She remembered the way the large Vashoth had blushed and smiled so winningly even as her voice rang with embarrassment at the discovery of her more cerebral pursuits. Even now, watching the play and bunch of the exquisite musculature of Ashraa's graceful form as she moved to training with Lady Pentaghast in hand to hand combat made her knees weak and set her ablaze.

As the diplomat looked upon her heart's desire, she realized that she wanted a gentle courtship that gave way to passion and love everlasting. Years of playing the Grand Game had stripped away her desire for such fantastical relations and yet, now her mind and heart were consumed with a need to tie Ashraa to her until the end of her days. Most would be surprised at the feral hunger that tugged at Josephine's soul, but it has always been polite to assume a woman that desires romance does not also burn with passion's flame. Desire and caring had become so intertwined within her breast that one could not exist without the other.

She sighed softly as the vision of the Herald churned the caldron of emotion within her. Josephine Montilyet was a master at her craft of diplomacy and wielding information like a blade. Leliana could ruin and take lives with hidden knives and poisoned lips, but she could topple an empire with the stroke of a pen. Yet she would give anything so long as her beautiful Vashoth Mage was hers to take. Still, she knew nothing of Lady Adaar's desires. The Kossith woman had been endlessly kind and attentive, but that could be nothing more than gestures of friendship and trust of Josephine's skills. A diplomat must never show her hand, and Josephine Montilyet had always taken that lesson to heart. There was nothing that she could say or do, but she could hope. Maker above could she hope. She no longer cared about the class differences that separated them; she was the voice of the most powerful independent political entity in the world…surely she could negotiate a favorable association between them, the world be damned. If only she knew what it was that Ashraa Adaar wanted from her: counsel, friendship…love?

Even as she struggled mightily with the kindly love that Addar inspired within her she felt need and desire claw at her belly and shroud her thoughts. Still, she was no stranger to desire, yet there were times that she wanted nothing more than to press the gentle Vashoth onto the War Table and take her until her hoarse cries informed any would be suitors that their hopes were futile. She felt a flash of boiling heat at the thought, as a part of her steeped in darkness wanted to claim her beautiful Kossith in front of those fools that thought they could ever be worthy. Yet there was more than mere lust that burned within her breast, and for the first time she felt adrift and afraid. Her thoughts constantly analyzed and obsessed over every action made every word spoken between them trying to discern if there was any chance that she could possess her Herald's regard.

Perhaps Ashraa favored those that tested their mettle in fire and steel and she felt the cold hand of fear grip her heart at the thought. She was no warrior, nor was she a blade hidden in the dark. She was the velvet covered iron fist that commanded long after war had engulfed and destroyed heroes, long after peace brought dull blades and fading valor. She would endure long after a war hero had faded, yet such fire smoldered with an inexhaustible source beneath; far different from the heroes that would flare brightly and then vanish as if they had never been. Even Leliana's beloved Warden Commander had ultimately effected little change over the world as a whole. The Blight had been stopped but the machinations of man and elf continued on, leaving only a moss stained monument and a brokenhearted Nightingale to mourn. Even her companions had found new paths in life beyond the Warden's shadow. The thought of another sharing the wondrous kossith's life terrified her, even as she deemed the most prominent members of the Inquisition unsuitable for Lady Adaar.

Sera was more than willing to bed the Herald, but she could not satisfy her intellectually and her irreverent humor grated upon Adaar's sensibilities even as she indulged it. She would not anticipate and read Lady Adaar's every desire, would not offer gentle, reverent kisses or a firm, demanding hand. She could not discuss literature or history and enjoy the beauty of the sunrise with her. The Iron Bull thought that his might and shared race would make him an obvious candidate for Lady Adaar's affection not noticing the boredom that dulled her gaze at his antics. Ashraa felt nothing beyond friendship for any male, and The Iron Bull's antics merely pushed her away rather than bound her more firmly to him. Yet female attention could undo Ashraa's composure completely; Leliana intimidated her and Cassandra tolerated her yet Josephine had noticed the way Ashraa seemed to come alive under Cassandra's regard. She told herself it was nothing more than friendship between the two of them: a bond forged within the fires of battle, yet jealousy still churned sour within her belly. Possession rose up dark and demanding, wanting to stake her claim before even the blind Seeker could see the treasure before her.

For a brief moment she indulged the thought; her fingers sliding into clenching heat, burying herself as deep as her beloved Ashraa could take her as she suckled sweet breasts to tender attention. She could be gentle as well; she could worship and cherish this woman that set her heart and body aflame. She could offer her dear heart a safe harbor from the cruel fate placed upon her weary shoulders. She could be her Herald's comfort and succor if only her eyes saw more than the Seeker's outstretched hand! Yet she could not allow weakness to allow Cassandra Pentaghast a chance at her beautiful Kossith's heart. She would take, she would command Ashraa's surrender until her voice was hoarse with cries of her name and her heart too full of her to ever consider another. How could she not when faced with such beauty and majesty?

She watched as Adaar briefly paused the sparing match, moving to remove her outer jerkin, revealing the breast ties unique to the Kossith and the heat of a different memory overcame her. Josephine had seen Lady Adaar in the baths once, having left a scroll behind that she had been reading there. Without thinking, she had walked into the baths and at that moment Lady Adaar, her beautiful Lady of the Fade, had risen from the waters. The Chant had lied…Andraste could not have possibly been a human woman, but instead Kossith; for surely the Maker himself would have desired such beauty to be His and His alone. Josephine was grateful that the Maker did not ask for Lady Adaar's hand as he had Andraste's, for the diplomat would be hard pressed to let her go. The Antivian ambassador had been grateful that the object of her burgeoning affections didn't notice her blatant staring as she made a hasty retreat.

The evening of her revelation found her sobbing her release into a clenched fist even as she frantically stroked her liquid heat to completion. It was the first time she'd ever laid awake, weeping bitter tears for a woman that no form of release could quench her boundless desire. She'd now likely have to take to avoiding Leliana; unable to bear her friend's concerned, confused gaze even as the Nightingale's demeanor towards the Herald began to cool in misguided outrage on her behalf.

Still, she would tend to this tender bloom called hope. Dreams of a life shared once the threat to the world had been defeated made her tremble in yearning. She suspected that few would understand, but if Lady Adaar would allow it she would offer her all the love and protection that her place as the heir of the Montilyet Family could provide. Ashraa would only know her love and desire and she would do everything in her power to shield her beloved from a world that would wish ruin upon her merely because of her appearance or the magic that bent to her will.

She would become stronger; learning everything that she could about the opposition both political and otherwise, so that her advice would keep the Herald and the Inquisition safe and prudent. As she watched the Seeker knock her sparring partner to the ground and the delicate blush that tinged Ashraa's cheeks when she accepted Lady Pentaghast's hand of assistance, she felt her resolve strengthen. _She_ would be the one the stand by Lady Adaar's side, not the Seeker. Turning from the window, the ambassador pulled out a scroll and began to read the notes Leliana had organized for her. She would become a beacon…one that endured, yet shown so brightly that Lady Adaar would have to turn to her.

She swore it as a Montilyet…and the Montilyet Family always upheld their word.

* * *

I still haven't finished dragon age (got bored) but I keep coming back to the way Leliana characterizes Josephine in love. Surely with all the intrigue and the natural talent for analysis that Josephine has she couldn't be the babe in the woods that Leliana described. Yet, I wondered at a woman that could play the Game and its most sordid tales and become a bard (albeit a poor one) acted almost virginal when with her beloved even though the game makes it obvious she is anything but. Then I realized that it wasn't sexual innocence that Josephine possessed it was romantic innocence. So I tried to play with that a bit and touch on the darkness that she hasn't succumbed to (like Leliana) but that she can drape herself in order to do her job.


End file.
